David Belisle

Ho-hum, thought the Muellersavus. Another day, another victory. For collusion. His Langleytips DNA told him it was only a matter of sifting through the rubble and connecting the rocks that mattered. Today he was sitting on top of a boulder. …

“Get in here, Joey! Now!”
The Joeydigenova poked his long neck inside the Oval Dwelling.
“My wife too? We’re a team you know.”
Moments later the Joeydigenova and his legal lover, the Victoriatoensing, squatted across from the Tyrumposaurus. …

There was the rank and vile smell of guilt in the air. The Tyrumposaurus was meeting with his legal dinos. All six of them. There was the Dowderpuff, who had grudgingly become the main contact with the Muellersavus’ Moscovian Bluffs investigation; …

The T-Rump made a face. Then another. His last meeting with the T-Rump Whisperers, a close lot of Neerdowell dinosaurs who had more moolah-moolah leaves than some entire Trumpassic Period species, had not gone well. …

With the turn of a phrase came the winds of change, sweeping yet again through the Puhl-DePlugg Reservoir, splashing more mounds of mud in the face of the muddy-faced in this chaotic, quixotic quagmire, the Trumpassic Period. …

The Marinegunkelly hid his head in his hands. He found himself doing that a lot lately. Or everyday since he’d taken the job seven months previous as the Tyrumposaurus’ Chief of Staff. …